How Hilson finally got their Act together
by HilsonFTW
Summary: House is recovering from major hip surgery and having a mighty sucky time of it. Wilson offers his help.
1. A crappy Day at the Office

Ok, it was official, hip replacements were the most annoying, sucky, painful, disabling surgery on earth. House had known he'd need to get it done eventually, after more than twenty years of overbalancing to the left, but - OUCH! It was six weeks since the surgery now and he had spent three of them in a wheelchair. At the moment he was getting around with crutches and a leg brace, and hating every minute of it. The leg brace nipped and itched and scratched in all the wrong places, and the crutches were ugly, awkward, dreadfully unsexy and made him feel like some kid from a polio textbook. He couldn't even carry his own coffee while he was using them, for hell's sake! And this morning they had slipped on the bathroom floor, causing him to collapse in a messy heap and look like he'd been in a major bar fight. He felt like kicking puppies, only right now he wasn't even able to do that.

And who would he bump into first thing on this way to the elevator but only dearest Mr We Care Better himself. He threw him his don't even think about it death ray glare but Wilson had developed considerable immunity over the years: "House! What the hell happened to you?" "I fell in the bathroom this morning, the crutches slipped, get over it!" "Well if you actually wore that leg brace..." House pulled up his right trouser leg, exposing four inches of annoying orthotic. "In the shower?" Wilson nodded. "Ok, you win. Ummmm..." But he left whatever was on his mind unspoken and got them both coffee instead. "Will you stop staring at me?" Wilson's gaze never seemed to leave him as they were walking, or in his own case, staggering, up to their offices. "Only making sure you're not gonna knock the coffee out of my hands the next time you fall." House gave an almost good-natured grunt, the closest thing to a laugh he had at his disposal at the moment, and regretted it almost immediately. Oh God, no, he had encouraged Wilson: "Ummmm... Are you sure you should be on your own in your apartment right now? What if you had knocked your head?" "Can't get any madder than I already am, can I?" "Seriously, House, this is dangerous!" "Yeah, and so is life! Look, if I wanted to get myself a 24 hour care assistant I'd let you know, ok?" He was getting seriously pissy now; how dare Wilson insinuate he wasn't able to look after himself?

Wilson really was behaving like a fussy old lady as far as House was concerned, hardly ever letting him out of his sight if he could help it and annoying him with suggestions to help the rehab along morning, noon and night. Hell, what else was he supposed to do? He was keeping up with the physio regimen religiously, he put on that fucking leg brace - grah, there it was itching again - first thing when he got out of the shower every morning, he didn't even try to mount the bike; Chase had actually been impressed with him the last time he had checked on the new joint healing in, but Wilson the mother-hen was quite a different matter of course. Ah well, at least he'd had the decency of toddling off and leaving him alone after depositing the coffee on his desk, though in a way that was annoying House, too, because now he had no one to be pissy at. Anyway... As there didn't seem to be a case file coming from anywhere, he made himself as comfortable as he could in his lounge chair and decided to take a nap with a daringly pioneering but excruciatingly boring research paper on protein markers draped across his face. He got little enough sleep as it was after all.

Only he obviously wasn't supposed to get any more now either, because he was just about to settle into a comfortable doze when he heard a husky alto voice reprimanding him from the door. "Get lost, Cuddy!" "No, listen!" "Well, as leaving this room would constitute a major physical effort right now..." "Show me your face!" "Yes, it's bruised, yes, I fell in the bathroom this morning, yes, Wilson is worried, no, I'm not gonna get someone to stay with me. And now go and assign some parking spaces!" He hadn't even taken the thick wad of paper off his face during that whole exchange. "Actually I wasn't going to suggest that." House felt a swash of paper being taken off his face and the breeze from the air conditioner. "Would you kindly open your eyes while I'm trying to make sure you're not gonna accidentally kill yourself?" "Who said it was gonna be accidental?" "More of that talk and I'll send you upstairs under some mental health act or other!" House sighed. Right, he wasn't gonna get rid of Cuddy, but he wasn't gonna make things easy for her, either. He opened his eyes at her slowly, for maximum effect. "Pleeeeeeze, Mom! I'll be good and always make sure there's no puddles on the bathroom floor." "And how are you gonna do that if you can hardly move, let alone wipe stuff off the floor?" "Get a cleaner?" "Which brings us back to you not being on your own at the moment. Why don't you stay with Wilson for the time being, just till you're rid of the crutches?"

Cuddy couldn't be serious. Move in with Wilson for AT LEAST THREE WEEKS? He'd expect him to act civilised, for God's sake! House made his feelings known: "No way in hell!" "You'd get an excellent home-cooked dinner every night..." The fake seductiveness in Cuddy's tones made him want to crawl up walls. "Yeah, and even less sleep than I do anyway because he'd be up at five in the fucking morning BLOW-DRYING HIS HAIR! You forget I've been through it before, and this time it would be by his rules!" "Is it just me or would that be a small price to pay for not being found dead in a pool of your own blood one morning because this time you slipped you hit your head off the tub?" "Look, it won't happen again. Anyway, it's pathetic to see you jump into action as soon as he whistles." Cuddy shrugged. "Whatevah..." Well, he had won this round, that was something. Back to sleep now... Only... Just a moment... Cuddy had put the research paper he had been using as a sleeping mask on the desk. "CUDDY!" There was no way he was going to get up to retrieve it. She was straight back as if she had been waiting just out of eye-shot. "Come to a sensible decision yet?" "No, and now give me back that research paper; that's important work in there." "You were sleeping under it." "I wish I could..." Cuddy gave him one of her long-suffering ones and got him the paper. Cripple-bonus rocked!

But House hadn't won the war yet. At half past twelve on the dot Wilson came sauntering into the office with lunch for two. "Thought I'd save you the trouble of dragging yourself over to steal it", he grinned with feigned innocence. In fairness, it looked and smelt delicious. Only... "And if I eat it I'll automatically end up being guilt-tripped into staying at your place, right?" "That is totally up to you, you're a competent adult after all." The sarcastic undertone of "competent adult" In that sentence had not eloped House. "Perfectly competent enough to take care of myself, thank you very much, and now go back to your office." House had made sure to finish every last morsel of the excellent beef salad Wilson had surprised him with before saying that, though. 2-0, and time to actually put some work in. That research paper wasn't so bad once you got used to the guy's style after all. And he really had some pretty good things to say.

House had half a mind to peek around the door of the elevator before leaving it on the way home and go straight back up if he saw Wilson or Cuddy there. Surely they weren't going to stop him in the lobby and expect him to stand there with them for more than 30 seconds in his current state? Oh dear, forget it, he had just seen them. There was no escape, not at his current walking speed. "House! Wait!" "No, I'm gonna make a dash for it and you won't be able to catch up with me till I'm on a plane to Buenos Aires!" They escorted him to Cuddy's office where he couldn't help but sit down, just to take the weight off his tormented lower limbs. "Ok", said Cuddy. "Here's the deal. Take the rest of the week off, look after yourself, don't move around more than you have to. If you're better on your feet on Monday, we'll leave you alone. If you're not, you go and stay with Wilson till you're rid of the crutches." Wilson piped in: "That is when Chase and the physio decide you can get rid of them, not when you're just sick of them." "No worries there, I was sick of them about five minutes into the experience." "Never mind that, is it a deal?" Well, they were trying, and Wilson for one really did seem to want to help. "Ok..."


	2. Epic Fail at Independent Living

On Wednesday morning House took it very easy. He officially didn't have to do to work after all, so he dozed till eleven when... Well, as even going to the bathroom presented a major challenge at the moment he always put it off for as long as possible, but now he really had to. Slowly, gently, carefully... OW! He really did need that leg brace to get around, he had to put his weight on something after all, and his right leg wasn't going to take it without a lot of support and encouragement. Putting on an orthopaedic device just for having a piss... He grumbled and cursed and groaned to himself through the entire procedure. Hard carbon fibre, itchy Velcro, the crutch grips pressing on his palms - what the hell had he done to deserve this? Once he was up he figured he might as well stay that way, at least he wouldn't have to go through the whole ritual again for his next foray into the big bad world of his apartment then. He washed and dressed in a perfunctory manner, boxers, jeans, T-shirt, fleece, finally socks and shoes bending and twisting like a dying eel to avoid all the movements he wasn't allowed - or indeed able - to make at the moment.

Thank goodness there was still coffee there from last night, lukewarm in the thermos and ready to be microwaved. Performing activities that necessitated the use of both hands, like making coffee, was a nightmare at the moment, and House was grateful for every opportunity to avoid them. Coffee, mug, microwave, stale bread from the plastic pack on the table, peanut butter, a banana straight from the skin... Hey, he was doing well, wasn't he? No spills as yet, and a perfectly good, semi-nutritious breakfast. He'd show Cuddy yet! Practically trying to put him into care, phewt! He was perfectly capable of running his own life! There was even another cup of coffee left, YAY! He caught himself smiling for a fleeting moment. Dr Greg House would take some amount of killing yet, there was still a fair amount of life in this lame old horse. Only... He opened the freezer to find himself something he could leave on the kitchen worktop to defrost for lunch and - it was empty! "FUCK!" He'd need something before his physio appointment in the afternoon, the walking bars were killers at the best of times. What now? Venture out to the store? The idea made his hair stand on end. Actually throw together whatever there was in the kitchen and cook something? Even worse, he'd need both hands standing at the stove at least occasionally in the process. Order in? That made him feel like he needed meals on wheels. ARGH! There was nothing else for it, he'd have to at least partially succumb. Wilson's cell seemed to be ringing for an inordinate amount of time. "Morning House, ready to move in with me yet?" "Ready for a straight punch in your face? All I need is some lunch, and I need you to bring it!" "Hm yes, it is silly to embark on ill-advised independent living projects when your freezer is empty." "How the hell...?" "Just an inspired guess. Anything in particular you'd like?" "Surprise me!" He just knew Wilson would make a detour via Cuddy's office and tell her he was already caving in, but what the hell, he needed something to eat.

The look of smugness on Wilson's face when he arrived with their lunch and even laid the kitchen table to civilised standards was indeed hard to behold, but still House had to admit it was nice to have him there and feel cared for for half an hour. He almost felt like softening up. "Thanks, that was good." "My pleasure. Look, if there's anything you need, help, food, tidying up, whatever, let me know. I'll stock up your freezer tonight." "So... The moving in with you project is off?" "Well, to be honest... I like my place tidy, ok?" House nodded. That was fine, maybe with Wilson helping him this way for the moment he would indeed be well enough by Monday to keep going on his own. "Are you ok driving in?" House sighed. He was well able to drive again at this stage but it did hurt and use up energy he needed for the physio. Aw shit... Wilson was already standing there with his jacket. He gave a semi-appreciative grunt and hobbled out to the Volvo.

For the rest of the week, life settled into a fairly predictable and manageable pattern for House. Sleep in, have a mug of instant coffee - ok, so it was hideous, but it was also easier and he needed his caffeine - and a sandwich for breakfast, defrost one of Wilson's little freezer wonders for lunch, physio again on Friday. It was pretty ok, and if something was not, Wilson would be at the other end of the phone. He could actually feel himself getting better, movement was becoming less painful, he was able to put more weight on the new hip, and he was pretty sure he'd make it. On Monday morning then he stepped out of the shower and - SLAM! Thank goodness for fast reflexes, at least he hadn't gone down all the way to the floor but instead now found himself with his right knee on the ground and beginning to swell - oh great, JUST the right place for further injury - and the rest of him holding fast to the edge of the tub. He heaved an abysmal sigh. Right, he couldn't risk any further falls, one more could throw the rehab back by weeks. Over lunch he and Wilson had a quiet, don't tell Cuddy word in his office.


	3. Sometimes it's good to be sensible

After work, they went to his apartment together, packed up some stuff and the at least two weeks that House had termed his gourmet vacation in his own mind to make himself feel better about it began. In fairness, it wasn't all bad. For starters, it was nice to come into a clean apartment with a tidy bed. Then there was Wilson's cooking, on mature reflexion an incentive that should have made him swallow his pride about three weeks ago. They had agreed that half the Tivo hard disk would be his, erase any telenovelas on pain of death, and being able to call for help if he needed anything instead of having to haul his battered and bruised physique around was convenient to say the least. He had brought his beloved Taylor acoustic and his iPod for music, and he knew he wouldn't be short on reading material. Actually, that night was the first one in weeks he managed to sleep for more than an hour at a time.

So, as the weeks passed, House was finally beginning to detect slow but continuous progress in his mobility, a little better every day. He was still wearing the leg brace, and Wilson gave him extremely pointed looks whenever he seemed hesitant about strapping it on, but he could manage short distances without the crutches now, and the familiar feeling of using his cane again gave him confidence. He'd be fine, and it was becoming more and more obvious. There was only one real issue now - the longer he stayed with Wilson, the less inclined he felt to move back into his own place. Leaving all this behind? Tidiness, cleanliness, an excellent home cooked dinner every night? Mmmmm, the stuff they'd shared, chicken soup with matzoh balls, sumptuous pizzas made from scratch, homemade horseradish sauce with their steaks... The idea of not getting that on a daily basis anymore was almost painful. Then the numerous small kindnesses Wilson had done him, one morning early on he had found the grips of the crutches lined with foam rubber to make them softer on his palms, another time he had woken up to find his favourite shirt pristinely washed and ironed on the back of the chair in his room. And every night there were two Vicodin on his nightstand, ready for the taking in a tablet cup so he wouldn't have to fumble with the container if the pain woke him up during the night. Funny he had never had that idea himself actually... Of course that also allowed Wilson to check on his consumption, but then what the hell, that was the man who had seen him lying in a puddle of his own puke. And, that was the next thing in favour of staying, his Vicodin use had actually gone down since he had arrived. The first couple of days he'd been swallowing them as willy nilly as ever, but during the past week or so he had only needed the nocturnal mercy dose once and was actually nearly down to his daily prescription. Something good was happening to him.

Yes, something had changed in House since he had come to stay with Wilson, and he felt something that didn't often feature in his emotional canon - gratitude. He wanted Wilson to know how much he had come to appreciate him, so the next day he left work even earlier than usual and went about looking after him for a change. He got a couple of bottles of Chianti and some good fruit and veg from the organic food store, and prepared the best he could do in terms of a sumptuous meal. Alright, compared to Wilson's own culinary efforts spaghetti and meat sauce from his mental book of college cuisine wasn't really impressive, but it was the thought that counted, wasn't it? He actually enjoyed himself slicing the sweet, plump tomatoes and picking out the most aromatic leaves of the grow your own basil, and once everything was bubbling away and he had started grating the parmesan and setting the table things had actually begun to smell quite delicious. Delicious enough indeed to impress Wilson who came home just as he was putting on the spaghetti. "Mmmmmmmm... New delivery service?" House shook his head. "Me. Don't know if it's any good, but I thought I'd give you a break tonight." "Cooking's actually something I don't really want a break from." But Wilson looked pleased anyway. "Better open that wine, huh? Let it breathe a bit."

The meal turned out surprisingly good. Wilson pointed out that for absolute perfection a few fresh basil leaves should have gone in at the end, but otherwise pronounced himself well satisfied with the sauce, which actually made House feel quite proud. He had just refilled their glasses and braced himself for his little thank you speech when he noticed Wilson's eyes narrowing. "So why this effort? Usually when you want something you just tell me. Must be something pretty huge this time..." Well, in a way it was, but not in the way Wilson was thinking. "No, this is just to say thanks. You've really been good to me over the past few weeks. Well, you've always been good to me actually. Sorry for being such a bastard a lot of the time." Wilson shook his head smilingly. "You can't ever do middle ground, can you? Either you act like the world's biggest asshole or you buy up all the Chianti in Princeton and practically hug people in gratitude for something that's really just basic human decency. You needed help, I gave it to you, that's all." "It's more than that. All those little things, the way you made the crutches more manageable for me, ironing that shirt, the two Vicodin every night... It means a lot." "I enjoy doing it, ok? If you feel like staying on a bit after the crutches are gone it's fine with me." House could feel his jaw drop. "Really?" "Really. It's just more fun cooking for two." As if to prove that point straightaway he turned his attention to some eggs and leftover Chianti and improvised a wonderful zabaglione for dessert.


	4. SCORE!

Wow, that had gone well! Basically, all House had to do now was to establish his position before Friday when he had his next check-up and would likely be able to hand back the crutches once and for all. He spent all his unoccupied moments thinking long and hard the next day, and finally came up with an idea. He had been missing his piano quite a bit recently, and some guy with a van was bound to be looking for work.

In the meantime, House honed his innocent act and when Wilson came home on Thursday night, he was well prepared, tinkling away on the piano as if it had never been anywhere else. Wilson's reaction was a sight to behold. He gawked, opened his mouth, closed it again, well near hyperventilated and then exploded. "What the HELL is that?" "It's a musical instrument. You hit these keys here and it makes a sound. Would it be easier for you to understand in South Pacific Pidgin? It's called Big Fella Box You Hit Him He Cry." "Get that back to your apartment NOW! And I don't want to see you here for another minute once you're rid the crutches! Actually you can leave right away with your piano, it's obvious that you're quite capable of running your own life again." House set his eyes to huge blue innocent mode. "The removal guys have families, too, y'know. And what if I fall again?" "Feel free to hire a care assistant!" House's eyes were now set to saucer size. "You said you wouldn't mind me staying on longer. And I was missing my piano." He knew Wilson could never resist his sad gaze for long, and indeed he gave the expected long-suffering sigh. "Right, let's talk this over." "Naw, it'll be much more fun to see you ranting about it to Cuddy tomorrow morning." With that he retired to bed; he knew he had come perilously close to being slapped.

The next morning Chase and the physio had good news for him. "It's healed in perfectly. Another two weeks with just the leg brace and you'll be back to your old self." He handed back the crutches with a feeling of profound relief, if there was a more annoying mobility aid he didn't know about it. "So when are you moving back home?" Chase asked. "Don't know yet. Well, Wilson is kinda mad at me, so maybe tonight, but if I have anything to do with it..." He didn't have time to spin the thought out further, because there was Cuddy in the door, glowering at him. "House! My office!" He followed her with an air of carefree innocence. There was nothing wrong as such with moving a piece of furniture he was fond of over for a short period of time, was there? When they got to Cuddy's office Wilson was already waiting for them, looking exasperated. "So why the hell did you do this?" Cuddy asked. House shrugged. "I was missing my piano. I WILL take it back with me when I go home. Anyway, I think it looks pretty good there, no?" "Well, as far as Wilson is concerned you've started marking your territory with that move. Do you actually want to go home?" "Don't know yet..." he had to admit. He really wanted to stay, it was good to be with Wilson 24/7. Even arguing with him over his fucking telenovelas felt better than watching the world series alone. "As in you don't really want to." Wilson made a banging his head against the wall gesture. "HELP! It's taking over!" House thought for a moment and then tried to string together a real, sensible argument, one that had actually been in the back of his head for days. "Maybe I should stay on." Wilson looked aghast. "Think about it! You need someone to care for, and I need someone to look after me. You said you enjoyed me being there. Well, kind of anyway. And I'm better than I've been in years. I'm in less pain, I need less Vicodin. Hell, did you notice? I'm nearly down to my prescribed dose." "Well, great for you, and what's in it for me?" "Eternal neediness? Not being alone? Not hooking up with damaged nurses and terminal patients anymore?" Wilson nodded slowly, he seemed to see the truth to that. "Right... So... Why the hell didn't you just tell me? Ask? Anything? I'd have considered it." House gathered his thoughts, the next bit was going to be difficult. He found it impossible to look at anyone. Finally he got his words out in a low mumble. "I was worried you might say no."

They spent their evening making plans over a cardboard takeaway pizza and a couple of beers. There was plenty of space in the living room, so the piano could go into a corner along with the book cases, House would contribute a decent entertainment centre to their new shared life - it was fun to see things falling into place. They went to bed with a whole new feeling of fondness for each other.

After an hour's tossing and turning, his head full of racing thoughts about the day he'd had and what lay ahead, House suddenly realised what would help him sleep. Emboldened by the success of his plan, he went over to the master bedroom. Seeing Wilson in bed there, half-arsedly watching the late news and turning his gaze towards him with a new glow in his eyes made him smile, and - Wilson smiled back. "Wanna come in?" He held up the comforter. That wasn't an invitation House needed to hear twice. He crawled into bed beside Wilson, feeling a great surge of happiness. They looked at each other for a moment, with big smiles on their faces. "So when are you gonna get your stuff moved over?" "Tomorrow ok with you?" "Totally!" They fell asleep in each other's arms.


End file.
